


a lesson in patience

by JourEtNuit



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, F/F, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Sub!Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourEtNuit/pseuds/JourEtNuit
Summary: “What did I tell you before leaving?” Yang asks. Her tone is neutral, mild, studiedly unaffected.“That I wasn’t allowed to come.”“And what did you do?”“I came.” Blake licks her lips, a little defiant. “Twice.”Yang breaks into a smile, delighted by the bit of push back. “What do you think you deserve, Blake?”
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 27
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, you write intense kinky smut while quarantined, to cope.

It all starts because of one playful, offhand question, the morning Yang is set to leave for a week-long business trip.

They’re both in the kitchen of their small apartment. Blake yawns, watching from her perch on the breakfast bar as Yang starts the coffee maker. Yang’s suitcase is packed, a taxi on its way to pick her up. She’s been awake for hours, getting ready for the trip, but Blake just got out of bed to say goodbye. She rubs her eyes, still caught in that early morning daze.

Yang grabs two cups from the cupboard and says, jokingly, facing away from Blake: “You gonna behave while I’m away?”

Unexpected warmth rushes to Blake’s cheeks, pooling at the nape of her neck, dissolving any lingering sleepiness in her body. She knows Yang doesn’t really mean anything by it, but the phrasing, the subtext of authority, affects her anyway, so strongly that she’s left wordless. When Yang doesn’t hear any response to her little quip, she turns around, puzzled.

“Babe?”

“Depends,” Blake says. Her voice sounds hoarse to her own ears ; her mouth is dry. She swallows. “Any special instructions?”

Silence. The coffee machine gurgles between them, unmoved by the sudden tension.

“Do you _want_ instructions?” Yang asks eventually. She enunciates each word slowly, like she wants to make sure she’s not misunderstanding Blake’s intent. 

Blake nods. The heat at the base of her neck trickles down to her stomach, and she lets herself enjoy the heady mix of excitement and nerves. They’ve played with power dynamics before, but the thrill hasn’t lessened with time, and being the one to ask for it makes Blake feel both vulnerable and dangerous. It’s not unpleasant. 

Considering her with thoughtful eyes, Yang raps her nails on the polished surface of the breakfast counter. “Alright,” she says, when she’s done thinking it through. “Here’s the deal then: until I’m back, you’re not allowed to make yourself come.”

She doesn’t look away from Blake’s face ; her voice doesn’t waver when she speaks. It’s really fucking hot, Blake thinks to herself, how Yang is so comfortable taking charge.

Then she registers what Yang said, and she can’t help a snort of laughter. “ _That’s_ the first thing that crosses your mind?”

“Yeah, why? Not into it?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just… I was hoping for more of a challenge. I think I can control myself and not jerk off for a week.”

Yang smiles. It’s sweet. It’s sharp, too. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

The coffee machine announces with a loud beeping sound that coffee is ready to be consumed. Yang pours herself a cup. “Just so we’re clear,” she adds, casually, stirring two sugars into her drink. “If you break the rule, I get to punish you as I see fit.”

“Noted,” Blake says, cheeks flushing. If Yang notices the slight quiver in her voice, she doesn’t mention it.

*

Their first day apart goes by quickly enough. Yang sends her a text when she makes it to her destination - a photo of her hotel room with a sad face emoji and the caption _“wish u were here with me.”_

Blake smiles, amused, putting down her book so she can text back. She knows Yang genuinely hates those long business trips away from home. Away from Blake. Later that night, they talk on the phone a bit, before going to bed, and, afterwards, as Blake turns off the lights, curling on her side, she’s unable to fight a sudden wave of sadness. The bed seems so big without Yang next to her. Recalling their agreement in the kitchen, she sighs against her pillow : she’s probably going to have more trouble falling asleep without Yang than not masturbating for a week.

She should have known there’d be a catch. 

She’s at the office the next day, gossiping with Weiss about their new boss, when her phone vibrates. She checks it, absentmindedly, listening to Weiss complain about the guy, and - she drops the phone.

It tumbles on the carpeted floor at their feet. Weiss raises an eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I… Sorry, all good,” Blake says, pink-cheeked, as she awkwardly grabs the phone back. “I, uh, gotta make a call, I’ll be right back, sorry…”

She runs away from her embarrassment and Weiss’s inquisitive eyebrow, finding refuge in the deserted second-floor bathroom. There, in the relative privacy of a stall, she studies the selfie Yang just sent her.

It’s outrageously hot. Yang, topless, gorgeous. Curls of golden hair tumble artfully past a bare, tanned shoulder. The sharp jut of her collarbones contrasts the soft, full swell of her breasts, tantalizingly. And to make matters worse, Yang is looking straight at the camera, biting a lipstick-red lip, grinning smugly in a way that tells Blake she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Oh, _fuck me_ ,” Blake mutters to herself, alone in the bathroom. 

After that, it’s a constant barrage of pictures and texts, each more suggestive than the next. “You’re cheating,” Blake whines on the third night, after she answers the phone only to have Yang say very inappropriate things in that gravelly, low voice she uses sometimes when she wants to seduce Blake. (It always works, much to Blake’s irritation.)

“Am I?”

“You didn’t say anything about teasing me through the whole week!”

“Must have forgotten. Sorry, baby.”

Yang’s never sounded less sorry. Blake groans into her pillow. “You’re evil,” she grumbles. 

“You love it.”

Blake doesn’t deny it. She’s never been able to hide the truth from Yang. And the truth is: she _is_ loving every second of this.

*

On their last night apart, Yang asks if they can Skype. “I miss you,” she says, pouting at the camera. Blake’s chest feels warm with quiet, overflowing affection. Yang is lying on top of the covers in her pajamas - a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top, which dips low and shows off the top of her breasts, making it very obvious that she’s not wearing a bra. Her blond hair is left free, framing her face. She looks so damn _cute_ , Blake is overwhelmed with the desire to bury her nose in Yang’s hair, to count the freckles on her cheeks, to kiss her goodnight.

“I miss you too,” she says. “I’ve missed touching you. I’ve missed waking up next to you and…”

She’s distracted by a ruffling noise, the sound of fabric moving, and the way Yang’s face tightens, almost imperceptibly. Yang is looking at her intently, lips slightly opened, her breath quickening.

Blake blinks as realization dawns on her. “Yang, are you… ?”

Yang lets out a small hum, low in her throat, and a sudden wave of want floods Blake’s stomach. “Show me,” she says, a needy whisper. Yang obliges her, tilting her laptop cam so that Blake can see her hand moving underneath her sweatpants.

“Fuck.”

Yang smiles. “Yeah, I _wish_ you could fuck me right now.”

“Yang,” Blake starts, but doesn’t know what she wants to say. It’s too much, too real and yet _not real enough_ at the same time, watching Yang do that on the small screen of her laptop. Every sigh, every grunt, blurred as they are through the low-quality speakers, makes desire burn hotter in Blake, until she gives in, and lets her fingers trail down between her legs. Yang must have caught the movement, because her smile gets bigger.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.” Blake’s one-word answer comes out abrupt, choked out. It sounds a little bit like defeat.

“Are you wet?”

“Yes,” Blake repeats. She’s rubbing fingers against her clit in quick, tight circles, and the frustration of the past six days catches up with her, a humble wave becoming tsunami. 

“Are you gonna come?”

Blake doesn’t answer this one, but she does come, fast, with a sudden gasp. She exhales, pauses, looks directly into the camera. Yang is still smiling, but it’s sweet and loving and sincere. Her eyes shine with emotion as she stares back at Blake. Yang loves watching her come ; she says it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I love you,” Yang whispers, soft, soft like her eyes on Blake, and Blake brings herself to a second orgasm.

*

The next day, Yang is on her flight back, so the fact that Blake doesn’t hear from her at all isn’t necessarily unexpected. And yet Blake feels jittery with anticipation, her chest fluttering with delicious nerves every time she wonders what Yang will do to her. _I get to punish you how I see fit._

After she gets home from work, she takes a shower, cleans up the living room, puts away some dishes, waters the plants ; she’s a bit frantic, desperate to focus on anything but the wait, the inevitable. She’s seriously considering reorganizing her books by color when she finally hears a key in the lock.

At once everything disappears but the sheer joy of reunion. Yang drops her suitcase in the hallway, carelessly, and her smile is wide and happy and _home_ , and Blake rushes to the entrance to take her in her arms. The smell of Yang, the solid, firm reality of her body in Blake’s arms. Blake can hardly believe it’s only been a week. 

“Oh Yang, I’ve missed you,” she says, in between kisses. She doesn’t even care if she sounds dramatic.

“God, you have no idea,” Yang says, quietly, kissing Blake’s forehead, her cheeks, her temples. 

Blake threads careful fingers in Yang’s hair, touching the line of her jaw.

And then the mood changes. Yang grabs her by the wrists, not forcefully or painfully, but firmly enough that it establishes who’s in control. Blake swallows, but doesn’t fight it. Yang looks her in the eye, searching, waiting, so Blake gives her a nod, because she knows Yang wants to make sure they’re both okay with what happens next. 

“What did I tell you before leaving?” Yang asks. Her tone is neutral, mild, studiedly unaffected.

“That I wasn’t allowed to come.”

“And what did you do?”

“I came.” Blake licks her lips, a little defiant. “Twice.” 

Yang breaks into a smile, delighted by the bit of push back. “What do you think you deserve, Blake?”

“A reward for holding out till day 6, honestly.”

That makes Yang laugh. “Feisty tonight. Let’s see how that goes for you.”

She leads Blake to their living room, where she has her sit on the couch. “Wait for me here, don’t move. I’m going to take a shower before I deal with you.” She bends down to give Blake a teasing little peck on the lips, and then she’s gone, leaving Blake entirely too flustered. 

From the couch, she hears the water running, and it’s hard not to think of Yang, naked, under the shower. Blake shifts, uncrossing her legs, stomach a knot of anticipation and rising arousal and sheer nerves. Making her wait, she’s well aware, is intentional on Yang’s part, but it works nonetheless. None of their previous experimentations with power play has ever been quite so drawn out, so ceremonious, and it leaves Blake buzzing with excitement. 

When Yang comes back fifteen minutes later, she’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt that highlights the definition of her arms ; her hair is still wet, bunched up in a messy bun. She’s so pretty, Blake can’t take her eyes off her, drinking her up.

“You haven’t moved,” Yang says, appraisingly, “good.” She sits down on a simple wooden chair, on the opposite side of the living room, facing Blake. “So you _can_ follow an order, if you feel like it. You just decided not to follow the one you _asked for_.”

Indignation colors Blake’s cheeks. She opens her mouth, ready to protest, but Yang raises a hand before she can say anything. “Oh no, baby, the time for arguing is over. Now’s the time for _consequences_.”

She lets the word hang between them, observing her. Blake squirms under her gaze. Yang is good at this - at authority. “You’re going to be punished tonight, Blake. How does that make you feel?”

Blake licks her lips. Warmth spreads in her lower stomach, blood pulses between her legs. Oh, this is everything she wanted, 

“Hot,” she admits, voice rough.

Yang inhales sharply, cheeks dusted with pink. It does something to Blake, to see her affected too by this game they’re playing. “Come here.”

Without any hesitation, Blake stands up. There’s something spellbinding about Yang’s voice, the firmness of it, the absolute confidence that she’s going to be obeyed - something Blake finds herself utterly unable to resist. She crosses the room until she’s standing right in front of Yang. 

Yang’s smile changes, softening, loosing its predatory gleam, and she grabs Blake’s hand. “Hey, you okay?”

Blake nods, eager to get to the good part, but Yang doesn’t let go. “Are you sure?”

Right. Yang needs to hear her say it. Blake squeezes her hand affectionately. “I’m fine.”

“And you will tell me if anything is too much for you, promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

Yang releases Blake’s hand, takes a deep breath, a playful smirk blooming at the corner of her lips - and just like that she’s in control again. “Drop your pants.”

It feels like an implosion, the way desire flares up inside Blake, with such intensity her fingers shake when she unbuckles her belt. She has a pretty good idea where this is going, now, and her imagination runs wild, filling her head with delicious images of what probably awaits her. Once Blake’s jeans are off and kicked to the side, along with her socks, Yang sits a little straighter, and pats her right thigh. “Across my lap.”

Blake swallows, cheeks flushing hotly, and for the first time tonight - for the first time since that morning almost a week ago, in the kitchen - she wavers. It’s one thing to know where this is going, it’s quite another to put yourself in such a position willingly. She may have all but asked for this, but oh, at the last moment, Blake finds it hard to actually _submit_.

Yang raises an eyebrow. “I won’t say it twice, Blake.” She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t touch her, but Yang’s tone, stern, absolute, is enough to break through Blake’s last resistance. 

Shakily, she lowers herself across Yang’s thighs. As soon as she’s done so, Yang moves as well, readjusting Blake’s body to her liking, circling Blake’s waist with one arm, holding her tight, captive, against her lap. Her other hand rests, gently, almost possessively, on the curve of Blake’s ass.

Blake’s breathing quickens. She stares at the rug, hands flat on the ground, feet dangling. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but being so completely exposed, so very vulnerable, is overwhelming. Heat blazes on her cheeks, down her neck - she can't help but feel embarrassed, just a little bit.

A finger slips underneath her underwear, brushing her clit. She shivers. Yang chuckles. “Baby, you’re so wet already, and I haven’t even started yet.”

She removes her finger, ignoring Blake’s displeased whimper, and rests her palm on Blake’s ass once more. “But you know the real funny thing about this?”

Yang leans forward. Blake feels hot breath on her ear.

“I won’t let you come tonight. Not at all, not even once, no matter how much you beg for it. You still owe me a day.”

And Yang brings her hand down, hard, across Blake’s ass. Blake gasps, both from the revelation and the shock of sudden impact.

She doesn’t have time to really take in Yang’s words, because Yang starts spanking her in earnest. The smacks aren’t hard, but they are relentless, building up both heat and a thrilling sense of powerlessness. Blake wriggles, caught between trying to escape the sting of Yang’s hand, and wanting more of it, more pain, more pleasure, more of everything. After a few minutes of this, Yang pauses, and for a brief moment a strange mix of hope and disappointment rises at the back of Blake’s throat - maybe this is it, the long awaited punishment is over- but then Yang’s calloused fingers slip underneath the waistband of her panties, and minutely pull them down her legs until they join Blake's pants on the ground.

“You thought I was done with you?” Yang asks, teasing. “I’m just starting, baby.” She punctuates the term of endearment with a slap that makes Blake cry out.

Oh, it hurts, in the very best way. The feeling of Yang’s hand against her bare skin is _torturous_ , each impact more painful now than before, yet better, also - more intimate, in a way she didn’t anticipate at all. Blake, who had so far managed to remain as dignified as one can be in such a situation, starts squirming, writhing on Yang’s lap, bucking her hips with each smack, whining and humming plaintively, but Yang doesn’t relent, just tightens her hold on Blake’s waist and keeps spanking her, methodically. 

Right when Blake can only focus on the pain, Yang stops. She leaves one hand on Blake’s ass, the warmth of her palm uncomfortable on Blake’s red-hot skin. “I would ask how you’re feeling,” Yang says, fingers trailing slowly down between Blake’s legs, “but it’s pretty obvious you’re enjoying it.”

Blake is soaked. Her inner thighs are covered in wet. She buckles, hips raising impatiently, starving for some contact. Obliging, Yang pushes two fingers inside her, and starts fucking her, slow and steady. Blake grinds her clit against Yang’s bare thigh, shamelessly. Her ass is burning, but it’s nothing compared to the furnace in her lower stomach, the molten lava in her spine.

For one blissful moment, she almost believes Yang has decided to fuck her, right here and now, draped over her knees - but then Yang stops moving, her fingers disappear, and Blake’s empty cunt throbs, pulsing around nothing.

“No, Yang, come on, please!” she protests, voice already gone hoarse.

“Behave.” Yang tugs at Blake’s hips until Blake gets the message and rises from her position, standing on shaky legs. They look at each other - Blake, flushed, sweaty, pleading ; Yang, with dark eyes and a darker grin.

“Please,” Blake repeats. Yang stands up as well, shaking her head, not even bothering to answer. She takes Blake’s face into her hands and kisses her, slow and dirty, licking into Blake’s mouth with something like hunger.

Fuck. This is worse than pictures and texts, worse than an impromptu masturbation session. Blake’s never been denied like that, after so much stimulation. Emboldened by her frustration, she risks a small bite to Yang’s lower lip, hoping to distract her while she presses two fingers against her clit.

Yang breaks the kiss with a peel of laughter. “Oh no, baby, none of that.” She grabs Blake’s shoulders, spins her around, and marches her toward the kitchen, until they reach the corner where the breakfast counter meets the wall. She positions Blake there, facing the wall, and with one foot, spreads her legs wider. “Hands on your head.”

Blake obeys, a little lost, too wired to question it. Yang presses her body against Blake’s back, and Blake hisses at the way Yang’s shorts scratch against the sensitive skin of her ass - she hopes this means Yang’s about to fuck her against the wall. There are warm hands under her shirt, on her breasts, kneading softly at the flesh, rubbing her nipples till they harden, wandering down her belly to the patch of dark hair between her legs. The familiar imprint of lips she adores kissing the curve of her neck has Blake moaning, unabashedly wanton.

“Don’t move, don’t make a sound, be a good girl,” Yang whispers in her hair. And then she’s gone.

Blake inhales, shocked. She stares at the blank wall in front of her. She _aches_ with want, reeling from the abrupt lack of touching.

Behind her, out of sight, she hears Yang moving in the kitchen, the clanging of pots and pans, the _tshk-tshk-tshk_ of a knife hitting the cutting board, the doors of cabinets opening and closing - these sounds of quiet domesticity would normally fill her with joy, but right now they’re akin to torture. Blake bites her lip, so hard it almost draws blood, wishing she could touch herself. Her clit is throbbing almost painfully. Carefully, she closes the gap between her legs, hips swaying, wet thighs rubbing together, desperate for the tiniest hint of friction…

A sharp sting on her ass makes her cry out. Before she can comprehend what happened, a second one. She spins around, and finds Yang, frowning, holding in her hand a wooden spoon. If Blake wasn’t so flustered she’d probably burst out laughing, or at least she’d make a joke about food safety. As it is, she only stares, wide eyed, as Yang raises an eyebrow.

“I told you not to move, didn’t I?”

Wordlessly, Blake nods.

“Turn around.”

It takes all of her self control to obey. A few seconds, then the same sting, twice more, this time on the back of her thighs. She clenches her jaw, but lets out a moan nonetheless, pain and pleasure blending together.

Yang hums, pleased with herself. “Oh, you’re a vision, baby. Half naked with your red ass on display, and _dripping_ for me.” She slips fingertips between Blake’s thighs, teasing, collecting wetness as if to prove her point. Blake shudders, whimpering, aching for her touch, knowing better than to ask for it.

There’s a quiet hum, and Blake feels a kiss on the side of her head. “I’ll have to do this more often.” And then Yang is gone again, and Blake is left alone, wet and needy and loving the fuck out of it.

She’s not sure how long Yang makes her wait. She’s loosing sense of time, drowsy, facing the wall in silence while every inch of her thrums with desire, heart pounding, pleasure glistening between her legs. 

When Yang comes back, the first thing she does is to cup Blake’s cheeks in both hands, searching her eyes. “How do you feel, babe?” Blake, despite her dazed state, recognizes the genuine concern in Yang’s voice, and smiles.

“I’m okay,” she whispers, before turning her head so she can press her mouth against Yang’s palm, leaving a wet kiss. Yang’s quiet _fuck_ is a reward in itself, the reminder that Yang may be in charge, but she’s equally affected by all of this.

Well, maybe not _equally_.

“You’re doing great. Just a little more,” Yang praises her, before pushing Blake towards the breakfast counter. “Bend over for me.”

“Yang… ” Blake whines, pouting her lower lip. She doesn’t know if she can handle any more teasing.

Yang’s only answer is a swift swat to her ass - not hard, more of a warning than anything else. Blake hears the unsaid question: _Do you want to be back over my knees?_

She bites her tongue, desperately aroused at having no control over her pleasure, and complies. She hears Yang kneeling behind her, feels Yang’s strong hands on her hips. Oh God, is she really going to… Something wet and soft presses at her opening. Blake moans, loudly, eyes screwed shut, as Yang scatters small kisses all over her inner thighs, her cunt, tongue darting to lick up the wetness gathered there. It’s too much, it's just too much. Blake’s hips jolt, her heart hammers frenetically inside her ribcage. “Don’t move,” Yang murmurs, hotly, against her swollen clit, and Blake, whimpering, trembling, struggles to stay still. 

“Are you going to come when you’re not supposed to again?” Yang asks, slipping two fingers into Blake. She fucks her, lazily, keeping her on the edge - and Blake, oh Blake feels like sobbing, like begging, like she’s never been more alive than right this second, offering herself to Yang and dying to be devoured. She’s so close, her orgasm has been building like a storm inside of her, from the depth of her stomach to the tip of her toes….

“No, no, I promise, I won’t!” she stammers, desperate.

“You sure?”

“Please, please, Yang, please.”

“Hold it. Right there. _Show me_.”

And so Blake does, twitching and sticky, her hot skin against the cool marble of the counter, Yang’s fingers deep inside her, her ass burning, her clit throbbing. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t come.

Yang takes out her fingers, slowly, carefully. “Can you talk?” she asks, gentle. Blake shakes her head, breathing too loud, pulse drumming a staccato at her throat. 

“Can you move?” This time Blake nods, and so Yang helps her to her feet, and immediately gathers her shivering, highly strung body in her arms. “Good girl. Good girl. You’ve done so well. Just breathe, I’m here.”

Blake is drowsy and tingling all over, half-mad with desire still, but Yang’s voice is familiar, Yang’s embrace is soft and warm, and gradually she calms down, coming back to herself, letting Yang lead her back to the couch. There’s a glass of water waiting for her, and her favorite pajamas. The buzzing feeling remains, but it’s not so overpowering that she can’t think.

Eventually, she exhales. “Fuck. That was intense.”

“Too much?” Yang asks, immediately concerned.

“No, oh my God, it was perfect.” She smiles, kissing Yang’s shoulder. “How are you?”

“My hand hurts.”

“Asshole,” Blake huffs, weakly shoving at Yang’s shoulder.

Yang laughs, kisses her hair. “Here, have some more water. I made dinner - are you hungry or do you wanna wait?”

“I want cuddles,” Blake mumbles, sleepy but demanding, “and a nap.” She lies down on the couch, gingerly shifting to her side with a wince, and opens her arms. Taking the hint, Yang lies down on her side as well, curled up against Blake, their foreheads touching. 

“I love you,” Yang whispers in the infinitesimal space between their mouths. Blake closes her eyes, wrapping her arms around Yang’s body, inhaling the fruity smell of her shampoo, grateful for their closeness. Arousal and frustration have dulled to a distant pang, wetness still coats the tender skin between her legs - but it’s not an unwelcome reminder. Besides, they have the whole day tomorrow to make it better, and Blake intends on getting the pleasure she's been so thoroughly denied.

Blake kisses Yang’s lips, lingering at her mouth. “I love you too,” she says, soft and tired, before sleep takes her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I wrote the first part of this in quarantine, and months later, when I'm finally publishing the second part... we're still in quarantine. I hope it was worth the wait! It certainly was for Blake :)

Blake awakes slowly, wrapped in a mess of bedsheets and pillows, everything soft and comfortable and familiar. Curled up at her side, Yang sleeps with her head nestled in the crook of Blake’s neck, one hand splayed across Blake’s stomach, hair twisted into a bun. Sunlight streams from the window - they must have forgotten to pull down the blinds - and the outside world is quiet, peaceful. Yawning, Blake checks the alarm clock on her bedside table, which tells her it’s early morning still, and wonders if she should try and go back to sleep. But her mind is firmly awake, her thoughts clear, her eyes open: she’s ready to start the day. 

Instead, she drops a kiss on Yang’s forehead, and snuggles closer to her. Yang’s skin is soft and warm, she smells of sleep, of the lotion she likes to use, with hints of citrus from her shampoo. She smells like home, and Blake inhales deeply, lips curving into a smile. She’s missed Yang, the physical reality of her - there’s nothing quite as heartwarming as simply lying in bed with the person you love.

Should she wake Yang up? How long have they been asleep? Blake hesitates, frowning a little as she tries to recollect the events from the past evening. She barely remembers going to bed last night - she knows that she fell asleep on the couch while Yang held her, that she eventually woke up from her nap and that they ate dinner in front of the TV, but everything else is a blur.

Maybe Yang carried her from the couch to the bed - it wouldn’t be the first time. Blake’s heart squeezes a bit at the image this thought conjures in her brain, and she gives Yang another light kiss on the top of her hair.

Blake yawns again, and stretches her arms and legs. There’s an interesting, burning sort of soreness in her limbs. As if activated by her protesting muscles, flashes of the night play out in her mind: she remembers being spread over Yang’s lap, so terribly vulnerable, or facing the kitchen wall, or bending over the counter while Yang stood behind her. She shudders, despite herself, at the memory of everything Yang did to her - Yang’s hands on her, either teasing or punishing her, and above it all the arduous, torturous wait, with no resolution at the end. Yeah, last night was _amazing_ \- better than what she expected. Certainly much more intense than what she thought she’d gotten herself into when, a week ago, she’d asked Yang to take charge. 

She wonders… Experimentally, she slides a hand down between her legs, half expecting to find wetness still coating her inner thighs. She doesn’t, but when she strokes a careful finger against her clit, she has to stifle a moan. Turns out she is still very sensitive, after so much build up and no release. She touches herself again, lightly, two fingers now, and warmth stirs easily in her lower belly, like embers quick to ignite once more. 

“You really made a mess out of me,” Blake murmurs in Yang’s hair.

Yang makes a small noise in response. Half-asleep still, she buries her nose in Blake’s neck, and her hand grazes down Blake’s stomach to cup her hipbone, thumb trailing dangerously close to the edge of her shorts. 

Yang is so cute when she sleeps - Blake’s heart fills with tenderness at the sight. But she can’t ignore the want lingering in her whole body, like an afterthought, an inescapable memory of how aroused she was, how aroused _Yang_ made her last night. And, she thinks, mischievous, maybe it’s time for a reward.

With gentle hands, she rolls Yang away from her and on her back, and pushes the entangled sheets off them both. “Blake?” Yang mumbles, sleepily. 

In one fluid move, Blake straddles her hips, and that gets Yang to open her eyes. Yang’s hands rise, automatically, reflexively, and land on top of Blake’s thighs. She blinks, gazing up at Blake with something like awe. “Good morning,” Blake says, with a cheeky grin. She bends down to kiss Yang’s nose. 

“What —“ But Blake cuts her off with a real kiss. Yang, despite her confusion, responds immediately, opening her lips, inviting Blake into the wet warmth of her mouth, tongue eagerly meeting Blake’s. The hands on her thighs flex, and Blake inhales Yang’s breath into her own lungs, before she licks along Yang’s lower lip, teeth grazing the plush, velvet-soft skin. She presses a small, light kiss at the corner of Yang’s mouth and raises her head to look at her. Yang’s eyes are fully open now, and devoid of any sleepiness, starkly purple, dark with want. 

“Good morning to you too,” Yang says. Her lips are wet. Blake smiles, sweetly, and presses her tongue at the base of Yang’s throat, licks the hard ridges of her collarbones. One of Yang’s hands finds its way into Blake’s hair, but she doesn’t pull, simply lets her fingers rest intertwined with Blake’s dark curls. “Blake,” Yang says, again, and her breath stutters when Blake’s tongue reaches the top of her left breast. Blake bites her there, right above the rim of her tank top, then licks the mark of her teeth to ease the sting. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Yang murmurs, eloquently. 

“I want you so much,” Blake breathes out. She kisses the hollow between Yang’s breasts through the thin material of her tank top. “You didn’t let me touch you last night.”

“Baby, you can touch me all you want.”

It pleases Blake, darkly, to hear the need in Yang’s voice, the naked impatience. She shuffles, sliding down Yang’s body so that she can kneel in between Yang’s legs. They’re both wearing shorts and the feel of Yang’s bare legs against her own is deliciously sensual. Blake pushes Yang’s tank top up to her breasts, kisses the soft skin of her belly. “Take this off,” she mouthes, half a plea and half an order. Yang complies happily, shrugging the piece of clothing off herself and flinging it to the floor somewhere beside the bed. Blake doesn’t care - she’s looking at Yang splayed topless on their bed, hardening nipples and the full swell of her breasts on display. The flat expense of her stomach. Her ribs, visible at her sides underneath the skin. 

Yang’s eyes are on her, burning.

Blake’s heart feels too full, suddenly. “I love you,” she says, with another kiss to Yang’s stomach, because if she doesn’t say it she fears it will spill out of her anyway. Yang smiles, warm and so tender it makes Blake’s chest ache with love. “I love you too.” Yang’s palm cups her cheek. “So much, Blake.”

Blake takes a second to soak in the feeling of Yang’s hand on her cheek, the incomparable affection in such an intimate, familiar gesture. And then she brings her hungry mouth to one of Yang’s breasts and closes her teeth around the small, dark nipple, not hard enough to hurt, just a sharp little graze.

Yang’s back arcs off the bed and she moans beautifully. 

The sound ripples down the whole length of Blake’s body, pulsing between her legs, as she sucks her way to Yang’s other breast, leaving Yang’s skin rosy pink and glistening. Her hands glide up and down Yang’s sides, fingertips brushing along her ribs like the familiar keys of a piano ; her thumbs flick both nipples at the same time, and Yang moans again, a loud, unabashed noise that seems to drip from her like honey, sweet and syrupy in Blake’s ears. From the corner of her eyes, as she follows with her tongue the shape of Yang’s abs, she notices the way Yang’s hands grip the sheets, like a lifeline, and she pauses to look up into Yang’s face. Her eyes are closed, mouth obscenely open, head thrown back, the glorious column of her throat bare and exposed. 

“You’re beautiful,” Blake hears herself say, hushed and close to reverent. “I want to watch you like this for hours.” Yang’s eyes stay close, but she threads a hand in Blake’s hair again, and this time she _pulls_ \- a gentle, insistent little tug.

“Don’t you dare,” Yang lets out, playful despite the breathiness in her voice. “Just because I made you wait last night…” The end of her sentence is lost in a high-pitched cry, when Blake’s nails dig into the soft flesh of her thighs. They leave pink little half-moons on Yang’s golden skin.  
The fingers in her hair tighten, desperately.

Blake smirks, but in truth she has no intention of making Yang wait. She lacks the self-control, especially when Yang looks like this, half naked and writhing on top of the bedsheets, blond hair fanning like a halo of gold on the pillows. 

There’s a bit of maneuvering as Blake shifts to take Yang’s shorts off and repositions herself on her stomach, between Yang’s legs. She pushes Yang’s thighs apart, and encounters no resistance: Yang opens for her like a flower greeting sunlight. Blake teasingly presses the tip of her finger to Yang’s entrance, the touch too soft to provide any of the relief that Yang so obviously needs, given how wet she is. It doesn’t prevent Yang from gasping ; her hips jerk in anticipation. 

Blake lowers her head and kisses Yang’s inner thighs, one after the other. Her skin is so soft and smooth - it’s impossible to resist the temptation - and so she bites, sucking until blood pools underneath the skin, peppering Yang’s thighs with red-purple marks. Yang’s fingers, in her hair, pull, trying to direct her where Yang needs her the most, but Blake takes her time, lips and teeth mapping out the wonders of the inside of Yang’s thighs. She smells Yang’s arousal, feels her abs tensing under her hands, her hamstrings quivering. Yang’s breathing has gotten loud - it’s music to Blake’s ears, and suddenly she can’t stand it, she wants more, she wants _everything_. Two of her fingers start rubbing Yang’s clit - tight, small circles ; pressing, urgent movements. Yang lets out a keening sound as her knees lock on both sides of Blake’s head. And Blake, lost in the smells and sounds of Yang’s desire, presses her legs together. She entertains the thought, briefly, of pausing so she can touch herself, but the sight of Yang’s cunt, in front of her eyes, shiny with wet, clit swollen and hardening under her fingers, is too enticing ; the desire to satisfy Yang, to make her feel good, eclipses everything else.

She brings her mouth closer to Yang’s clit, using her fingers to spread her lips further, and slowly, gently, lovingly, she presses the flat of her tongue against Yang. She tastes of salt and copper, tangy and sharp. Blake flicks the tip of her tongue, careful not to be too forceful, just how Yang likes it, and is rewarded by a strangled moan, the sound filling up their bedroom, echoing in Blake’s ears as she licks her way all over Yang’s cunt, the sensitive creases of skin between pubis and thighs, the inner lips, coating her tongue with Yang’s wetness, teasing her entrance with the tip of her tongue. 

Yang’s hand is cupping the back of her head now, pinning Blake’s face into her, desperate, unrelenting, and Blake gives in to the silent demand, the pleading pressure of Yang’s fingers in her hair. Yang’s hips twitch erratically as Blake’s dutiful mouth carries her closer and closer to the finish line. 

When she deems Yang almost ready to come, Blake sinks two fingers inside her, and curls them, rubbing at the sensitive spot on her inner wall, the one she knows drives Yang crazy. Yang bucks underneath her, wild and entirely consumed by her pleasure, and Blake’s tongue descends on her clit once more.

Between Blake’s mouth and Blake’s fingers, it doesn’t take Yang long to come - her whole body tenses, her back bows, her lungs empty as she cries out Blake’s name. And then she flops back onto the mattress, knees loosening their vise around Blake’s head, fingers falling from Blake’s hair. Blake straightens from her position, cautiously, and watches Yang’s chest moving as she catches her breath. She’s smiling. 

Blake crawls up and snuggles into Yang’s side, mouth resting on the sweaty, tender skin of her neck. Her pulse drums, birdlike, against Blake’s lips. Yang lifts an arm and rests her hand on the curve of Blake’s hip, lightly thumbing the edge of her shorts. “That was incredible,” she murmurs. “You’re incredible.”

“Oh, I know.”

Yang stifles a raspy bubble of laughter into Blake’s hair. “Still feisty, hmm?” 

“And you love it!”

“I do,” Yang says, softly. She brings her other arm around Blake, hugging her close. They lie together, entangled in such a way that Blake can’t tell where she ends and where Yang begins. Yang’s breathing quietens, her heartbeat slows down, and Blake rests, content where she is, tightly held. When eventually she realizes her stomach is growling, she sighs and extricates herself from Yang’s arms. Yang grumbles unhappily, which is very cute. Blake gives her a kiss on the chin, smiling.

“You can rest if you want, I’ll cook breakfast.”

Yang snorts. “That’s a threat if I ever heard one.” 

“Hey!” Indignant, Blake whacks her in the face with a pillow, but Yang’s full-belly laughter is contagious, and soon she’s laughing too, hard enough that her stomach hurts.

In the end, of course, Yang is the one who makes breakfast: blueberry waffles and crispy bacon to go with their cups of coffee. While she cooks, Blake sits on a stool at the breakfast counter, watching her work her magic, and they talk quietly of mundane things.

(If Yang notices that Blake can’t look at the wooden spoon without blushing, she has the grace not to mention it.)

Once they’re done eating, Blake washes the dishes, and they gravitate towards the couch in the living room. It’s a lazy day, and everything feels a little slow. Both of them are wearing comfortable, casual clothes: Blake is back in her sleep shorts, one of Yang’s flannel shirts half slipping from her shoulders. Yang is clad in an old, soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

Blake settles in her favorite position on the couch, back against the armrest, and legs in Yang’s lap. Yang chuckles, turns on the TV. They sit quietly for a bit, watching a cooking show, simply enjoying the moment together. One of Yang’s hands rests on Blake’s ankle, and the other one strokes her shin, light and soothing. Blake sighs contentedly. On the screen, someone is attempting to bake an ambitious four-tiered cake, and for a while she pays attention to the show.

Until Yang’s hands become entirely too distracting. They run up and down her calves, her knees, her thighs, languorously slow, soft on Blake’s bare skin, and soon she can’t focus on anything but the way Yang is touching her: with intent, and care, and a kind of tangible warmth, the result so potent Blake feels intoxicated. Yang’s fingers edge higher, and higher, and higher still, until she’s caressing Blake’s inner thighs, creeping under the rim of her shorts, firm and bold and so, so close to her pussy, the touch grows excruciating. It awakens the latent desire in Blake’s lower belly, transforms it from a rivulet into a lake.

“Yang…”

“Hmm?” 

Blake digs her heel into Yang’s thigh, and pouts a little when Yang only laughs at her insistence.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Switching gears, Blake looks at her through her eyelashes, and says, needy and flirtatious, one word she knows will drive Yang mad. “ _Please_.” Oh, that does the trick. Yang swallows, her fingers tighten around Blake’s ankle, and her eyes darken with desire. 

“You’ve been so patient, Blake,” she murmurs, in the charged silence between them, her voice a low appreciative rumble. “You’ve been so good, and now I’m going to take care of you.” Slowly, carefully, she removes Blake’s legs from her lap, and gives Blake a lingering kiss, full of promises, before standing up. “Wait for me here, I’ll be right back. I have one last thing to take care of.”

She walks towards the hallway leading to their bedroom, leaving Blake’s mind buzzing with theories of what this last surprise might be, each more exciting than the next. Anticipation races down her spine, crackling at the surface of her skin. God, she needs to be touched, she needs to be naked _right now_. A minute later, her clothes lay haphazardly on the floor, and she’s lounging back on the couch, legs bent at the knee and wide open, facing the hallway, so that the first thing Yang sees when she comes back is Blake’s cunt.

And it works. Yang stops in her tracks as soon as she lays eyes on Blake. She blinks, and pink tints her cheeks. “Oh my God,” she says, with visible, earnest wonder, and her voice, her words, give Blake such a rush that for a dozen of seconds she doesn’t even register what’s different about Yang, lost in the delicious haze of being looked at, of being admired and desired.

And then she notices the bulge in Yang’s sweatpants and it’s her turn to blush. Blood pulses between her legs, at her throat, the sheer magnitude of her need dizzying, like standing too close to the edge of a gulf so deep you can’t see the bottom of it. 

Smirking now, fully aware of the effect her entrance had on Blake, Yang sits back on the couch, and Blake doesn’t hesitate - she straddles Yang’s lap, hands linked behind Yang’s neck, holding onto her mane of blond hair, and, looking Yang right in the eye, she starts grinding against her, rubbing herself on Yang’s lap, on the bulge in her sweatpants. Yang stays still for the briefest of moments, eyes wide and intense, biting her lower lip, and then she springs into action, and it feels as if her hands are everywhere: reverent on Blake’s breasts, cupping them in open palms as she rolls her nipples between two fingers, soft on her belly and firm at her hips, and hungry, possessive, as she grips the flesh of her thighs, the curve of her ass. Yang’s mouth, not to be outdone, is fastened to her throat, lapping at the skin, gently nipping at the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. It’s like she’s being mapped, explored, the whole of her revealed under Yang’s touch, and it’s too much, and not enough at the same time, and Blake’s grinding grows frantic, desperate for the kind of friction that will relieve the ache. Tentatively, one of Yang’s hands trails down her stomach, snaking in between Blake’s thighs, and reaches her clit, but the angle is all wrong, and there isn’t enough space for her to move freely, and Blake grunts in frustration at the too-light touch.

Yang, responsive as always, brings one arm around Blake’s ass, and lifts her so that she’s up on her knees, legs spread on each side of Yang, pressed into Yang’s body, the front of her thighs leaning against Yang’s firm stomach, Yang’s face flush with her tits ; Blake’s elbows rest on the back of the couch, her chin on top of Yang’s hair. With her free arm, Yang reaches behind Blake until Blake feels two fingers teasing her, dipping into her, once, twice, and again, very slowly, smearing wetness all over her inner thighs.

Blake’s entire body trembles. Her belly fills with fire, and she gasps in Yang’s hair, willing the fingers to move deeper, faster. It feels so good, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough, she wants more, and it thrills her to no end to realize that there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it. She’s utterly, delectably, at Yang’s mercy, held firmly in place, on her knees, by Yang’s strong arm. She can’t move - not to jerk her hips backward in an attempt to drive those fingers deeper inside of her, not even to move away from Yang’s tantalizingly slow exploration. So, captive as she is, loving despite herself the exquisite frustration of it, Blake hides her face in the comforting scent of Yang’s hair, and closes her eyes, and allows Yang to tease her just a little bit more. 

But Yang must feel the same devouring kind of hunger, because after only a minute of this, she gives in, sinking two fingers fully inside Blake. Her other hand squeezes Blake’s ass, firmly, and then moves up to the back of her neck, cupping her nape. “Don’t move, let me make you feel good,” Yang whispers, voice raspy against Blake’s collarbone.

 _God_. Blake is so wet she can feel herself dripping onto Yang’s thighs.

She doesn’t protest, made compliant by the pulsating ache in her clit, in her pussy, and Yang starts moving faster at last, pumping her fingers in and out. She scratches lightly at Blake’s neck, at the curly baby hair there, and a shiver runs down Blake’s spine, electric. “I think you’re ready, baby. Do you think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes, fuck - please.”

“I only have one rule this time: you have to ask me permission to come. Will you do that?”

Blake moans, hips twitching desperately. “Yes! I will, I promise.”

“Good girl.”

Abruptly, Yang pulls her fingers out and releases her hold on Blake, who sits back on Yang’s lap, shakily, a little dazed, and most of all left sorely _unsatisfied_. They lock eyes, and Yang looks like every fantasy Blake’s ever had - pink lips and red cheeks and wild lavender eyes, smooth freckled skin and wicked grin.

“Open up,” Yang orders, and pushes her wet fingers in Blake’s mouth. Blake cleans them off, swirling her tongue around each one leisurely, taking great satisfaction in the way Yang’s hips buck hard underneath her at the sight. She tastes herself on Yang’s fingers, and decides she wants Yang to taste her as well - so she kisses her, a dirty, sloppy sort of kiss, tongue slipping in and out of Yang’s mouth, teeth clinking together, sucking at her lips. 

Hurriedly, a bit frantic herself now, Yang lifts her hips from the couch and slides her sweatpants down just a bit, enough to reveal the strap-on she’s sporting underneath - and Blake, mad with desire and unable, unwilling, to wait any longer, grabs the dildo, and guiding it towards her cunt, _sits_ , gradually taking the whole length of it inside herself. Neither of them move, for a heartbeat or two. Until Yang lets out a groan and, taking Blake’s face in both hands, kisses her again, catching her lower lip between her teeth and biting down, the sharp hint of pain offset by Yang’s thumbs tenderly brushing the soft skin under Blake’s eyes, by the warmth of Yang’s palms on her cheeks.

The dildo inside her cunt aches pleasantly, fills her up in a way she’s been craving for a week now, and Blake starts riding Yang, up and down, slow and steady - she’s so close to the edge already, it won’t take long, and she wants to make this long-awaited orgasm a good one. Her thighs burn as pleasure builds in her belly. Yang’s hands slip down to cover her waist, but she does not stop Blake from fucking herself on her strap, nor does she control her pace at all.

“Fuck, you are so hot right now, Blake.”

Blake pants. Strands of hair are sticking to her forehead, her neck, her temples. She’s going faster now, taking it deeper too, legs shaking with the effort, and oh, here it, she can feel it rising from the pit of her stomach, from her throbbing cunt, heart pounding in her chest…. 

“Can I come?” she gasps, barely audible, breathless. Honestly, at this point, she doesn’t think she can stop herself even if Yang refuses.

“Yes,” says Yang, watching her intently, and that does it, Blake comes ; her back curves, her eyes close, a low moan escapes her throat as she keeps grinding her clit down onto Yang’s lap to chase every speck of pleasure she can, distantly aware that’s she’s coating Yang’s thighs with her own wetness. 

She barely has time to catch her breath before Yang slides both hands underneath her ass and - holy fuck - stands up, with Blake in her arms and her strap still inside Blake’s sensitive pussy. The sudden change of position has Blake’s clit pressed roughly against the base of the dildo and she whines at the delicious throb of it, at the way her nerves instantly respond, alighted anew.

Blake, arms around Yang’s neck, half-dazed by the orgasm she just had, half-craving more already, lets herself be carried away, gazing admiringly at the muscles in Yang’s arms, in Yang’s shoulders, at the way they tense and play under her skin. Yang gently deposits Blake onto the cold marble surface of the breakfast counter and, just as gently, slips out of her.

She tilts Blake’s face upward by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Remember what I did to you here, last night?” Blake nods. Yang’s hold on her chin tightens, just a little bit. “Good. I want you to think about it, about all of it, while I fuck you. Bend over.”

Blake swallows, mouth gone dry, cunt pulsing, cheeks burning red, and obeys. Oh, it isn’t hard to submit one last time - not when she’s been waiting, hoping, for this, for Yang to fuck her, for the past seven days. Blake bends over the counter, flinching a little from the cold, holding onto the opposite edge, one cheek smushed against the hard marble, and, all inhibition gone, lightheaded and shameless, she begs.

“Please, Yang. I need you. Please.”

Warm hands on her back, tracing each notch of her spine, up and down, framing her hips, cupping her ass. Blake closes her eyes, loosing herself to the sensations. There’s a squirting sound, and then Yang spreads something wet and cool around her entrance, finger sliding into her briefly. Lube, Blake realizes, just as Yang says softly, “I have to get you ready for me, baby. Are you good?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Blake breathes out, whiny and urgent, and is rewarded with the tip of the strap pressing into her. “Yes!”

And then, slowly, inexorably, Yang pushes the length of it inside her, hands holding Blake by the hips. She gives Blake a few seconds to adjust, then she pulls out, and slams back in, and now she’s fucking Blake in earnest, hard and fast and rough. Surrendering is easy - Blake lets herself go, in a mess of half-swallowed moans and mumbled pleas, eyes tightly shut. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes loudly in the quiet apartment and, God, it’s perfect. It’s everything she wanted. 

“Yang, plea-” a particularly forceful thrust interrupts her, makes her cry out -“ please, I need to…” Oh, she’s so close, it feels so good, pain and pleasure mixing together in a fiery, intoxicating cocktail, drowning her like a giant, inevitable wave drowns the shore. “Please, please, please, can I come?”

One of Yang’s hands comes down, hard, on her ass. “Have you learned your lesson?” she asks, as she keeps fucking her, and spanking her, and Blake chokes, relishing the sting and how it brings back memories of being punished, being denied.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be patient, I’ll be good, I’ll… ” The rest of her words are lost, mumbled against the countertop, as Blake’s body tenses and shakes and burns with the intensity of her fast-approaching orgasm. 

One last slap against the curve of her ass, one last powerful thrust, and Yang says, mercifully, “Come.”

And Blake does. 

* * *

It takes Blake a few minutes to come back to herself. When she does push away from the counter, legs quivering under her weight, face flushed, heart still thundering in her chest, Yang is here to guide her back to the living-room, with gentle hands and soft murmurs. 

“Worth the wait?” Yang asks when they’ve both recovered from the intensity of the scene, clad in clean clothes, sipping iced tea, snuggled together on the couch.

“Fuck yeah.”

Yang snorts at Blake’s enthusiasm, and nuzzles her hair. “Maybe next time I’ll make it two weeks of no orgasm…”

Blake groans, and weakly slaps at Yang’s arm. “Maybe next time I’ll be the one in charge.”

“Hmmm, don’t make promises that you can’t keep, babe.”

Yang winks at her, with that cheeky smile on her kiss-swollen lips, the one Blake fell in love with, and Blake, overcome with affection, presses herself closer to Yang. 

“I always keep my promises to you,” she says, low and earnest, with her head resting on Yang’s shoulders. Then she pokes Yang in the side, causing her to yelp in a rather undignified manner. “And stop being so smug, it’s really annoying.”

Chuckling, Yang drops a light kiss atop the crown of Blake’s hair, and says, sweetly, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tune in for Part 2, in which Blake finally gets to come, maybe. I won't be able to write it for a while though, so we'll all have to be patient...


End file.
